


bad ideas and worse decisions

by melanoleucus



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Everything is entirely consensual, First Time, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Some Attempts at Humour, endgame patrick/david, sebastien raine: mediocre lay, set during s3 (obviously), unromantic and potentially unhealthy attitudes toward sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoleucus/pseuds/melanoleucus
Summary: Sebastien, 29, photographer, NYC. Visiting. Just looking to see where the night takes us.Patrick pauses on Sebastien’s profile. He can’t imagine why someone from New York would be visiting Schitt’s Creek, but it is convenient.__“What the fuck,” David says.Patrick’s heart does an eight-foot vertical leap. David is standing half-in-half-out of a doorway, and he looks freaked out enough that Patrick glances down to triple check his buttons. They’re fine.“David,” Patrick says, and winces. His voice sounds like – like he’s just had a dick down his throat, probably.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Sebastien Raine
Comments: 17
Kudos: 209





	bad ideas and worse decisions

**Author's Note:**

> not me showing up to a fandom late with absolute trash
> 
> I read WellSchitt's incredible [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481167) and thought, it'd be hot if Patrick and Sebastien did actually fuck, so here we are

Patrick’s been figuring out the gay thing. The internet is very careful to tell him that being gay doesn’t mean liking particular sex acts. Anal penetration is not a prerequisite for a degree in gayness. Plenty of men don’t enjoy topping or bottoming. Still, Patrick feels like he might as well try, so he tries. He likes his fingers, then he buys a dildo and likes that too, then he buys a vibrator and some more lube and likes that even more. He imagines getting fucked by a real dick and shudders. He wants to know what that feels like, know for sure whether he likes it. 

He knows what the options are. He’s never been a meaningless sex kind of guy, but he’s also never been a guy kind of guy, so maybe things are due for a change. It’s embarrassing, is all, being this old and feeling like a clueless virgin. Virginity may be a social construct but Patrick still feels behind the curve, fifteen years too late to a sexual awakening. He wants to get it over with, so to speak. He doesn’t have a checklist but he doesn’t _not_ have a checklist. 

Plus, there’s – David. David, who references his past relationships without hesitation but always with a joke and a grimace. Who moves through the world like he’s physically carving out the space for himself wherever he goes. Who has been the primary subject of both his daydreams and his early morning hikes since the day they met. 

David is brilliant and gorgeous and funny and all the other adolescent crush adjectives and he deserves better than some inexperienced fumbling. Assuming that he’s – if he – if Patrick ever – yeah. David deserves someone who knows what they’re doing, is the point, someone who knows what they want. Patrick has known for a while that he wants to be someone David deserves, but he’s still too fuzzy on the rest of it. 

So he downloads Tinder. He’s in nowhere, Ontario (he repeats the joke to himself, well-worn but always entertaining), but it’s still the 21st century. It takes him two beers to set up a profile and pull up the most flattering photos he can find. Most of the ones he has of himself also include Rachel in the frame, which is fun to think about as he’s setting up a dating profile with the “looking for” option set firmly to men. Still, he manages to find a few he deems acceptable, ones that show off his physique. It feels weird to put himself on display like that, but he supposes that’s the point. The first profile he sees is a shirtless mirror selfie with the face cropped out and the outline of a dick clearly visible through sweatpants. The guy is chiseled as all hell, and Patrick feels the pull in his gut that he only recently realized is attraction. He takes a second to admire but chickens out of swiping. He thinks about grabbing another beer, but pulls out his laptop instead and distracts himself with tax forms until he falls asleep. 

The next morning, he wakes up at the crack of dawn and does Rattlesnake Point, thinking around and around the same circles he’s been stuck in for weeks now, not gaining any new clarity. He does work for Ray until David texts him that more products have arrived, then he heads to the store, ignoring the sudden fizzy weightlessness in his stomach. It’s deeply unfair that he still has to feel these feelings even after acknowledging them. That acknowledgement itself had taken him no fewer than three hikes, and if anything the butterflies have only increased in number since then. 

He lets himself in and follows David’s exacting instructions on how to unpack the bottles of body milk, and resolutely does not imagine David rubbing said body milk all over himself. Or all over Patrick. They’re both quieter than usual, letting the silence hang between them. He’s jittery all day, but so is David, and both of them notice and neither of them ask. 

At home, he breaks out the whiskey and taps onto Tinder again. He’s in nowhere, Ontario, so the pickings are slim. He has definitely seen some of these people around town, and he imagines the awkwardness and gossip that would inevitably result and swipes left. He very carefully does not wonder whether or not David is on here. 

_Sebastien, 29, photographer, NYC. Visiting. Just looking to see where the night takes us._

Patrick pauses on Sebastien’s profile. He can’t imagine why someone from New York would be visiting Schitt’s Creek, but it is convenient. Even the straight relationships in his hometown got incestuous eventually. Patrick wants to avoid mess, and Sebastien is not from here and very hot in that homeless kind of way. He swipes right, and his phone makes the little matching sound. His stomach flips at that, and he swipes through another few profiles before he receives a notification, _Sebastien has sent you a message._

_What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?_ Reads the text. Patrick makes a face at the line but starts typing out a reply. He might as well play along. 

_This town or this app?_

_Both. Either._

_Wouldn’t you like to know._

_Oh, but I would._

Patrick isn’t sure what to say to that. 

_Just looking to try some things out_ , he types, figuring that it’s honest without being too revealing. 

_I would love to explore them with you._

They have some more back-and-forth. Patrick isn’t all that taken with the vibes Sebastien is putting out, but it’s not like he has to like a hookup for his personality. 

_I’m staying at the motel, room five._

He hesitates for one last second, but he knows he’s already made a decision. 

_I’ll be over soon._

He cleans up, as per internet instructions, and pulls on his tightest pair of jeans and a short sleeve button-up. He shoves lube and some condoms into his pocket before heading out the door. Thankfully, Ray isn’t there to comment. 

He’s nervous the entire drive over. He’s not a stranger to casual sex, per se, but it has been a while. If he’s being honest, though, the possibility of running into David or his family is the more terrifying thought by far. Thankfully, when he pulls into the motel, there are a few cars in the parking lot but no one lingering outside. He checks his reflection in the rear-view mirror and then leaves the car. 

He knocks on the door, room five. He listens to footsteps and takes a deep breath as the door opens. Sebastien is taller than he expected, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that looks like it was chewed on by rats then sold for three hundred dollars. Patrick nearly extends his arm out for a handshake before realizing that that’s probably not conventional hookup behaviour. 

“Hi. I’m –”

“Patrick,” Sebastien says slowly, eyes already going predatory, “please come in.” 

He doesn’t move back as Patrick steps into the room, and crowds him against the wall as soon as the door closes. This close, their height difference is even more obvious, and some part of Patrick thrills at being the smaller one. Sebastien takes Patrick’s face in both hands, and his eyes flicker up and down. 

“You really do have beautiful eyes,” he says, and then leans in for a bruising kiss before Patrick can think of a response. Patrick kisses back, grateful that he doesn’t have to muster up any conversation. He lets his hands roam across Sebastien’s torso, feeling the flatness of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders. It feels good to be surrounded like this, to have to tilt his head back while making out. Patrick can feel himself getting hard in his jeans. Sebastien starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Patrick lets him. 

They separate so Sebastien can take off his shirt as well. Patrick uses the pause to turn them around so Sebastien is against the wall instead, and drops to his knees. He looks up as he undoes Sebastien’s belt buckle, then keeps going when he makes an encouraging noise, eyes dark and fixed on Patrick. He tugs Sebastien’s jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock, which is flatteringly hard. He hesitates for a moment, licking his lips, and then just – goes for it. 

He thinks about what he likes when someone blows him, and tries to recreate those moves. He must be doing something right, because Sebastien grunts and gets his hands on Patrick’s head. He tastes pre-come at the back of his tongue, and he moans. Fuck, he really likes this. He gets lost in the sensation for a while, licking and sucking messily, but stops when Sebastien starts getting loud. He stands back up, wincing at the ache in his knees, and pulls Sebastien down for another kiss, open-mouthed and filthy. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick says against his lips. “I cleaned up before coming here,” he adds, since he’s not sure when else it might come up more naturally and communication is key. 

“You’re an eager one,” Sebastien says in a husky voice clearly meant to be seductive. It only kind of works. “I like that.” 

They move to the bed and strip the rest of the way. Patrick lies on his back, spreads his legs in an invitation that Sebastien takes up with a self-satisfied smile. He reaches for a bottle of lube and hooks one arm under Patrick’s leg, pushing it up and leaving him exposed. Patrick shivers. 

Sebastien’s fingers are confident and not particularly gentle. Once Patrick feels settled into the stretch, he reaches over to grab a condom and passes it to Sebastien. “I’m ready, fuck me.” 

Patrick focuses on keeping his breathing steady as Sebastien puts the condom on and presses his cock against Patrick’s asshole. 

“It’s always so beautiful, this moment of corruption,” he says, which doesn’t seem like a super healthy way to think about anal penetration. He pushes in slowly, not stopping until Patrick can feel bony hips pressing against his ass. Patrick groans. It’s different from both his fingers and the toys, and he likes it. He likes it a lot. 

“I feel so much in you,” Sebastien continues, “the turmoil. The desire. It deserves to be memorialized, cast in film.” 

Patrick would ask where this guy gets off, but at the moment the answer’s pretty clear. 

“Nude photography is more of a third date activity,” he says, groaning again as Sebastien starts thrusting in and out. “Fuck, keep doing that.” 

“That’s a shame,” Sebastien says, continuing to do that, “you open up so beautifully.” 

Patrick tunes out Sebastien’s words and focuses on the physicality of having another man between his legs, on the sensation of having another man’s cock inside him. It feels really fucking good. He gets a hand around his cock and holds on as Sebastien fucks him at a steady and ruthless pace. 

“I’m gonna come,” he says. 

“Yes, let me see you unravel,” Sebastien says, fucking into him harder. His dirty talk could still use some work, but Patrick is turned on enough not to care. He gives himself a few firm strokes and then he’s coming all over his stomach, gasping as he clenches involuntarily around Sebastien’s cock. Sebastien keeps going and Patrick hisses, sensitive after his orgasm. Before it becomes too uncomfortable, though, Sebastien’s movements go erratic and he shoves into Patrick one last time, hard, panting and bending over his torso. 

Sebastien pulls out and collapses onto the bed beside him. Patrick takes a moment to catch his breath. Neither of them speak. 

Once he feels somewhat composed, he sits up with a slight wince. “I’m just gonna,” he says, pointing at the bathroom. He gathers his clothes, pulling on his briefs as he gets up. 

“Mm,” Sebastien says, sprawling out on the mattress. 

Patrick closes the door behind him and stares into the mirror. He looks like someone who has just had not quite mind blowing, but pretty good sex. His ass is a bit sore, and his throat is a bit dry. He still feels like the same person. He ducks his head under the sink to take a drink. He thinks about how this pretty good sex with a total stranger was still better than everything he’s done with all the girlfriends he’s ever had; that’s that question answered for good. It’s a satisfying thought, a little bittersweet. 

He puts his clothes on slowly, making sure everything is properly buttoned up. Sebastien left a bite mark that shows above the collar, so Patrick sighs and leaves the top button undone to save himself some futile discomfort. When he leaves the bathroom, Sebastien is scrolling through his phone, apparently uninterested now that he’s gotten what he wanted. 

“I’m gonna. Go. Nice meeting you,” Patrick says. 

“Mm,” Sebastien says, not looking up, “may our paths cross again one day.” 

Patrick steps into to the heavy evening air, limbs loose, feeling relaxed. 

“What the fuck,” David says.

Patrick’s heart does an eight-foot vertical leap. David is standing half-in-half-out of a doorway, and he looks freaked out enough that Patrick glances down to triple check his buttons. They’re fine. 

“David,” Patrick says, and winces. His voice sounds like – like he’s just had a dick down his throat, probably. 

“What the _fuck_.” Both his pitch and his eyebrows are rising steadily. It’d be funny if Patrick wasn't so suddenly confused and embarrassed. 

“I was just –” He steps closer to David without any conscious input from his brain. 

David grabs his arm and drags him into a room before he can come up with an excuse. Patrick gets a bit distracted. David is – large. He smells good. He’s wearing a leather jacket. He slams the door behind them and slams himself against it. 

“Why were you in Sebastien’s room,” David says. 

“What – how do you know his name? And that’s none of your business,” Patrick says, automatically in defense mode. What’s going on. 

“Oh my god, you slept with him,” David says. Patrick can’t stop the wince, and David’s eyes widen even more. 

“I –”

“Oh my god!” 

Patrick scrambles for something to say. What the fuck is going on? This is not how he thought the night would go. 

“Seriously, how do you know him in the first place? How did you know it was his room?” 

“Sebastien Raine is my ex,” David says, relish behind the enunciation of every syllable of every word of that bombshell. Patrick recoils as if it had been an actual physical bombshell. 

What the fuck. 

“What the fuck,” Patrick says. 

“That’s my line,” David says, which is fair. 

“Oh my god,” Patrick says. 

“Again, that’s my line,” David says. 

Patrick sits down on the bed – David’s bed, his brain supplies helpfully – and lets out a wordless whine. He hooked up with his business partner slash crush’s ex-from-the-big-city, then got caught by said business partner slash crush before he could even begin his walk of shame. So much for avoiding mess. This can’t be real life. 

“They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this is going a bit far,” David says. When Patrick looks up, his mouth is shaped like amusement, like he’s entertained by Patrick’s display of existential horror. They stare at each other for a long moment before Patrick flushes and looks away. 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says to a carpet stain the shape and size of Russia, “I had no idea. We met on an app.” 

“Of course you did.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“No, just, it’s very Sebastien. He probably wanted to, to experience the desolation of rural queerness, or something,” David says, which is very rude. 

“That’s very rude,” Patrick says. David shrugs. 

“He’s an asshole, what can I say. Speaking of, I need his memory card,” which is yet another complete one-eighty on the night. Patrick is starting to get whiplash. 

“What?” 

“My mom –” 

“Your mom?” 

“Stop interrupting me. He took photos of my mom, so I need his memory card.” David squints at him. “Ew. Not that kind of photo, don’t be disgusting.”

Patrick doesn’t think he can physically get any redder. “Okay, sorry! Just, the context, you know. Can you blame me?” 

“Right, context. You mean the context where _you fucked my douchebag ex._ ” His voice rises in pitch toward the end, but the twitching at the corners of his mouth tell Patrick it’s mostly for show this time. He tries and fails not to find it endearing. Patrick flips between three equally inappropriate responses, because his brain is broken in a very specific way. 

“Technically, he –” 

“Oh my god!” David flails his arms out, outraged again. “This is so much worse than the Jake thing,” he complains. Patrick just barely stops himself from asking, even though he’s suddenly dying to know. It doesn’t seem like the right time. 

“David,” Patrick starts, mind racing for the right thing to say, even though he suspects such a thing does not exist, “I’m sorry. I – it was just a one-time thing. I swear I wouldn’t have if I knew.” 

“It’s fine,” David says, sounding decidedly not fine, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am _not_ done with you, and you _will_ be answering questions,” Patrick accepts the finger and glare pointed at him with a nod, “but right now I have more urgent matters to deal with.” 

Right, the memory card. 

“What if he backed up the photos already?” Patrick points out. 

“He never transfers his photos until at least the next day, because he’s a lazy arrogant piece of shit. If I can get the memory card, I’m good,” David says. 

“Let’s go get it, then,” Patrick says. 

“I was going to! I had a brilliant plan all lined up, and you ruined it! Wait, what do you mean, let _us_ go get it. Since when is there an us?” 

_There could be, if you want it,_ Patrick thinks and very carefully does not say. “At this point, the least I can do is help you commit theft,” he offers instead. 

“Okay first of all, my mom did not give permission for those photos, so can we really call it _theft_ if he never should've had them anyway, and second, how exactly are you proposing to help, here?” David asks. Patrick tracks the wild movement of his arms on instinct.

He shrugs. “We just go in. One of us distracts him, the other looks for the camera. Grab the card and leave before he has time to react. Plus, the two of us could probably overpower him, if it comes to it.” 

“That’s a terrible plan,” David says. 

“Do you have a better one?” 

David doesn’t, so they go. Patrick knocks on the door again, room five. Sebastien looks surprised, and then smug, and then surprised again when he sees David behind him and they both push into the room. 

“Hi, sorry, I forgot my. Glasses,” Patrick says, looking around. The camera is on the nightstand. 

“David,” Sebastien says. 

“Sebastien,” David says, stepping into his personal space, “I believe we have some unfinished business.” He sounds dangerous. It’s hot. 

It’s insulting how quickly Sebastien forgets Patrick is in the room. “I believe we do,” he murmurs, and he sounds self-satisfied and smug. It’s decidedly not hot. 

Patrick fumbles with the camera while David distracts Sebastien. It takes him a moment, but he manages to pop out the little memory card and slips it into his jean pocket. 

“Wait, what are you doing,” Sebastien says, re-remembering Patrick’s existence. 

“Looking for my glasses,” Patrick says. “I found them. In your camera, how weird is that. Good night.” He powerwalks back out the door, heart beating in double-time. 

David kisses Sebastien on the cheek, then pats it twice. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

Neither of them turn to look at Sebastien’s face as they hurry outside and back into David’s room, slamming the door and locking it shut. Patrick presses his back against it, and David collapses onto his bed, a reversal of their positions from before. There’s a moment where they look at each other, something heavy in the air, before the adrenaline coursing through Patrick’s veins translates whatever he was going to say into high, breathless laughter. 

“Oh my god!” Patrick says, or tries to say, but it barely gets through the hysteria. 

“Stop stealing my words!” David says, but he starts laughing too, which sets Patrick off even more. Patrick slides onto the disgusting motel carpet. 

“I’ve always wanted to pull off a heist,” Patrick says. 

David giggles. “Trust me, it’s not as fun as George Clooney makes it look.” After a pause, he continues, “This is _not_ how I expected the evening to go.” 

“You’re telling me,” Patrick says, and the mood sobers. 

The room goes quiet again, just the sound of them catching their breaths. 

“So.” 

“So.” 

“So, I owe you an explanation,” Patrick says. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” David says, then adds, “but yes, please do actually explain yourself, I would very much appreciate that,” when Patrick looks at him dubiously. 

Patrick clears his throat. “I uh. I downloaded the app because I was trying to – trying to work through some feelings I started having,” he starts, glancing up then away at David. The carpet is even grosser from up close. 

“Oh?” David asks, clearly aiming for a neutral tone. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, stalling, “you see, I have this business partner.” 

“Mhm,” David says, “what about him?” 

“Well, he’s kind of an asshole.” He pushes past the adorable affronted noise he knew David would make, “but I still – I still like him. God knows why. And I had never,” and this is the hard part, “been with a guy before. So I wanted to figure out. That.” 

Patrick breathes through the vulnerability, and waits without looking at David. 

“That sounds very difficult.” 

Patrick finally looks up, because there are too many ways David could mean that statement, and loses his response in the intensity of David’s gaze. His lips are pursed to the side, a barely-there smile, and he looks. He looks so good. 

They don’t break eye contact as David gets up from the bed and walks the two steps to the door, where Patrick is still sitting. Patrick holds his breath. David looms over him, and Patrick cranes his neck so he can keep looking, and then David is kneeling down with his thighs bracketing Patrick’s, and then they’re leaning in at the same time. David’s hand cups the back of his neck, the side of his face, and Patrick feels metal pressing against his ear, solid and warmed by David’s body. His hands are so big, and his lips are so soft. Patrick kisses back as best as he knows how, melting into every searing inch of contact. 

An eternity and not nearly enough time passes before David pulls back. 

“Ugh, I smell like anxiety sweat,” he says, but the tiny pursed smile stays on his face. 

“I don’t mind,” Patrick says, angling for another kiss. 

“You’re supposed to say, no David, you smell like fresh linen and custom designed eau de toilette,” David says. 

“You smell much better than toilet water,” Patrick says, and swallows David’s indignant reply. 

__ 

“Wait, can I see your Tinder profile?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

__

A few days later, David is wearing a shower cap and Patrick meets Stevie.

"Have we met?" Stevie asks, squinting up at him.

"Nope, don't think so," Patrick says, glancing at David uneasily. David doesn’t say anything, apparently happy to watch this unfold.

"I swear I've seen you before," she says, “at the motel, maybe? A couple nights ago? Wait, David,” she makes a show of widening her eyes, “wasn’t your ex _also_ at the motel a couple nights ago? What a crazy coincidence.” 

Patrick sighs and glares at David. “You told her.” 

David holds his hands up, feigning innocence. “It was an emotionally heavy day! I confided in a trusted… confidante.” 

Stevie coos at them both, mock sympathetic. “Did he offer to polaroid you naked, too?” 

“No, but he did say he wished he brought a film camera. Apparently the sepia tint matches my eyes.” 

“Okay, that’s enough,” David says.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this very self-indulgent fic! comments/kudos give me life thank you and goodnight


End file.
